Wishes
by discotheque
Summary: Her world right now is black and white and she herself a mere silhouette. There’s nothing more she wants than for something someone to paint her world and fill her in with bright colors and solid lines.' PamJim


A/N: Well, my first attempt at interpreting the wonderful complexities of the Jim/Pam relationship. This will probably be three parts, but no promises. First part is from Pam's POV. Next one will be from Jim.

Pam wished... well, she wished for a lot of things. Usually they were petty, dumb, in the moment type things, like "I wish it wouldn't rain" or "I wish I had chocolate ice cream." But she had other wishes, wishes that she wanted so badly to come true that they hurt her heart to think about. Her world right now is black and white and she herself a mere silhouette. There's nothing more she wants than for something (someone) to paint her world and fill her in with bright colors and solid lines.

Some days she wanted to draw so badly until her fingers were red and indented from her favorite pencils and paintbrushes. She wanted to draw her terrace, with gardens of ruby red geraniums and snow white daises. She wanted to draw the beaches of California, with aqua green waves and a sapphire blue sky.

She wanted to draw everything she'd never had, and everything that she never would have. Like olive green eyes and long, slim fingers. Like tufts of sandy brown hair and boyish smiles.

"Dunder-Mifflin, this is Pam. Hold, please."

This is what she had chosen. Ringing phones and the lifeless blue glow of a computer monitor. Quiet dinners at home with a man she could never really figure out. Nights filled with endless of dreaming of what she could have if she was different, stronger maybe. If she'd taken the time to figure her own self out a long time ago.

She woke up, the night after Ryan had neglected his cheese pita and Dwight had forever ruined R.E.M., tears staining her pillowcase and her whole body shaking. She had dreamt of his familiar hands on foreign hips, ivory fingers tangled in his hair, and shared secret smiles. It made her feel sick to her stomach, that she dreamed in such vivid color of him and someone else.

She studies her reflection in the mirror the next morning and wonders how she could ever compete. (When did she ever _want _to compete? Pam is terrified of these feelings and pushes them away.) She herself is colorless-- skin the color of copier paper, eyes a lightless glass green, hair a dull brown.

She used to want more for herself. She used to pursue instead of settle. But that was a long time ago and she hasn't put much effort into anything lately except ignoring her heart and choosing between roses and orchids and chocolate cake and strawberry.

She'd made the mistake, a couple years ago, of telling him of her love for lilacs. She'd went on for an embarrassingly long amount of time, rhapsodizing about their smell, how it reminded her of her summers growing up, how her mom used to put them in vases next to her bed so she could fall asleep to the scent. She remembered flushing, looking up into his eyes and seeing this... this look of fascination in his eyes, like no one else in the world had ever before loved something simple like a flower. And she remembered that at that moment, she wanted nothing more in the world than to pursue that look, forever. If something as mundane and pointless as her talking about flowers had mesmerized him so much, what about other things, important things, deep things?

A week later there had been a small vase of lilacs placed next to the phone. It was the middle of October. He must have went to the florist down the street and ordered them the same day she'd told him the story. She knew this, because she'd once went to the same flower shop in the middle of January, and the owner said during the months when lilacs weren't in season, it took a week to import them. Her heart stopped; it was a heady feeling to be remembered, thought of, acknowledged.

Roy came to pick up her that night and leaned over her desk and sneezed. Her heart sank and it rushed back to her, why, even if they _did_ make houses like that in Scranton she'll never have her terrace full of flowers. Roy's allergic.

And then there had been that frozen night on the lake, when her emotions had first been ruled by and endless stretch of silence and wide olive green eyes and then by a drunken declaration of commitment from the man the was in love with. Or at least that's what she told herself.

Pam was used to be content with her life, because it was all she'd ever really known. But then something else had been awoken within her gradually as she realized that there were other things (other people) that made her feel... like she didn't have to settle. Like life was a blank canvas that could change a million times over rather than just remain the same, hanging on a wall and so familiar that your eyes just slid over it.

But then again, Pam wasn't the type of person to actively pursue such things. She was terrified of the pain it might inflict, not only on herself but everyone around her. She liked that stability at least meant that nothing changed. That there was rarely awkwardness, questions or confusion. At least none that was out in the open. Friends. Fiancés. There were clear lines, but sometimes they blurred and she couldn't repair them easily with a charcoal pencil like she wished.

Apparently Jim had grown tired of the stability of their friendship sometime between proving his telekinetic powers to Dwight and losing all of his chips to her at the poker table. And he confessed his love (it's the only definition for what radiated from his clear green eyes, from his whole _being_) in a parking lot with Roy's taillights barely a few blocks away. It was disorienting, no man had ever said things like this to her before. ('Of course,' she thinks later. Roy first said 'I love you' as they walked out of the movie theater after seeing _Jerry Maguire._)

And it was that night she realized how the stability controlled her, as the words 'I can't' escaped her lips while every fiber of her body wanted to say 'I love you' back and see the look on his face. She imagined it would be similar to the look he'd had during the lilac story. The look that made her shake and feel like for once in her life she would be okay with not settling.

Instead she watched a tear travel slowly down his cheek and apologize for 'misinterpreting things.' She had been frozen to the spot, twisting that damn ring around her finger, a perfect circle that was supposed to symbolize endless love but right now it meant an endless circle of regret. Pam lived with a lot of regrets, but she wasn't so sure she could stand this one.

So she had hurried to the office, to the desk that a grinning face leaned over five days a week, popping jelly beans and making her laugh effortlessly. Called her mom, who could normally help her clear her head and see reason. But her mom instead only uncovered the feelings that she buried deep within her, yeah he was her best friend, but she might be in love with him. And now she couldn't ignore all the thoughts she usually labeled forbidden, because that night he'd finally spoken them, made them real, and she was relieved. Ignorance wasn't always bliss.

Pam saw his silhouette outside of the door and her pulse accelerated. He stepped into the office and she hung up the phone. She tried to formulate something sensible, diplomatic to say so she didn't destroy both of the things she valued most-- the stability of Roy and the rightness of Jim.

And then he kissed her and nothing, nothing, nothing could've stopped her from pushing her fingers up into his tousled hair and returning the kiss. Kissing Jim was like putting the final piece of a puzzle into place, like signing her name at the bottom of her paintings and drawings. Satisfaction. Vindication. Completion. Everything she wanted but never had.

She pulled away and now she had no clue what to say. His eyes were darker, a shade of forest green and his lips were swollen slightly and there were patches of red high in his cheekbones. A wave of giddiness passed over her as she realized she was the cause.

"You... you are the one thing in this God-forsaken place that makes me feel alive." The words resonated within her and she grasped at an adequate response but he was already turning and walking towards the door.

Pam walked behind the reception desk and sat in the chair that had molded to the contours of her body, that was set to just the right height so her knees didn't bump the desk. Tears began rolling one by one down her cheeks, ruining the mascara she had carefully applied just for tonight.

Suddenly her carefully constructed world had been upended and she wished (for a moment) it would go back so that everything was neatly categorized into 'friends' and 'fiancés' and 'delusional bosses' and 'acquaintances.'

Pam didn't like the unknown that now stretched out before her, that could only end in complications and heartbreak and tearstained cheekbones. She sat up straighter at her desk and smoothed the skirt of her blue silk dress. It was easy for her to feign happiness, she did it on countless occasions. And now she had to go home and pretend like nothing happened. She didn't know what to say to Roy yet, even though she'd finally realized that the love she had for Jim was not equal to the love she had for Roy, it still didn't mean there wasn't any.

All she knew was that she was starting to grow tired of living in black and white, and tonight she'd finally realized what life in technicolor could be like, if she decided to shake her beloved stability.


End file.
